


Clean Slate

by randomfatechidna



Series: Season 9 Codas [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, episode coda, s09e12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 18:00:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomfatechidna/pseuds/randomfatechidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe all they need is a clean slate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clean Slate

It's when they hit the motel room that Sam really begins to feel the loss. It isn't like all of the other times, when he'd feel put out, the odd headache he always put down to stress, and the phantom limb. It isn't like that, no matter how much he needs it to be.

 

Sam feels physically sick.

 

His stomach roils and his skin crawls with cold sweat. He jumps every time Dean moves suddenly. At his brother's offer of take-out, Sam refuses. "Your loss," Dean says, after a long moment, and he leaves the room to call for it.

 

If anything, their proximity makes Sam feel worse. He had proposed that they stay strictly business. He isn't going to backtrack on his words now. Not after everything. He has to get over it. Get over his attachment to Dean. Get over his need to be inches apart from him. Damn it, Sam feels the pull to be near his brother. He feels it keenly, like the wire of a taser links the victim and the shooter. He thinks maybe, he's the shooter this time. No, maybe it's his brother. Sam can't find the energy to decide.

 

There's nothing Sam can say, anyway; there's nothing he can do to fix any of this. And maybe everything, every power in their worlds is pulling to this moment, this climax. Maybe this is what every moment they've ever been apart has been preparing them for. The last time they will ever be real brothers. This is the start of a life of distance. Detachment. Not a clean slate, but a cleaner one. Sam can't say his nails don't dig in further to his palm at the thought. He squeezes his eyes shut. If he keeps them tight for long enough, the bad things disappear.

 

Sam can smell the pizza box from where Dean's left it on the round table earlier, and suddenly he's famished. Like haven't-eaten-in-days hungry and he wonders if this is what Dean felt like when Sam insisted on having the last of every good meal they ever had. And Sam wonders when he became so selfish. He doesn't get up to check the box for food.

 

He doesn't do anything.

 

 _He_ was the one who drew the line in the sand, Sam can’t forget that. He couldn't do it. He couldn't stand to be in the same room as his brother. He doesn't have the same problem with his partner. His colleague. There is too much history between Sam and Dean Winchester where Sam and Dean had none. That's all this is: a clean slate. It's all they need. Sam is sure of it. Convinced. 

 

Dean rolls over in his bed, and Sam can hear him flick on the lamp. Sam doesn't open his eyes until his brother whispers his name. "Sam."

 

"What?" Sam asks. His head spins as he sits up.

 

Dean knows what Sam meant when he said that they shouldn't be brothers. He knows how much he has hurt his brother. How much hurt they've caused each other. But he can't walk alone. Not in this life. "We can't do this," he manages.

 

"Dean, go back to sleep," Sam says, flopping back onto his pillow.

 

"No—shit—Sam, get up. I can't do this."

 

Sam waves his arm, dismissing him. He hates how he has to act careless when all he wants to do is hug his brother. He made the conditions for a reason, Sam reminds himself; no-one will get hurt anymore if they just stick to it. "Dude," Sam says, "go to sleep."

 

Sam hears the thud of Dean's fist on his bed. "No!" The ferocity of the word startles Sam and he sits up. "Look, I don't know _what_ you were trying to prove: that you can live without my emotional support or whatever your crazy mind spat out. But we need each other. Can we just admit it and go to sleep?"

 

"Dean," Sam says softly. "We are _toxic_ for each other."

 

"But it feels right. Having you by my side. Having _my brother_ by my side. I just—I feel helpless, Sammy."

 

Sam sits forward. The light casts shadows under Dean's eyes that make his eyes look so tired. Exhausted. "I'm pretty sure every toxic relationship feels good, Dean. It's like a drug: you just can't stop going back."

 

"No, Sam." Again, it is said quietly, but Dean puts more breath behind the words and they become more forceful. More. "You can't say, honestly, that you don't feel something missing. Tell me you can't."

 

Sam is quiet. He has lost count of the times Dean has lied through his teeth to him. He struggles to remember every occasion that Dean has done something without his express consent. He doesn't fail to remember his own trespasses, too. He has a steaming pile of regret sitting on his heart. But his mind is telling him, whispering slowly, that maybe he and his brother are equal in their guilt. Maybe what lies they've told cancel each other out. Maybe they can have clean slates. As long as they try to trust each other with the guarantee that they will be disappointed in the other, they will never have to be disappointed. "Okay," Sam says.

 

"That's it?" Dean asks. "Okay?"

 

"I mean, we can work it out. I want—I want to try to trust you again."

"Okay." It's not the answer Dean is expecting, but he takes what he can get. He can work with that. A smile transforms his face. Before it can take him over, Dean rolls over in his bed and pulls the sheets up to his neck, hand curled around the knife beneath his pillow. _It's going to work out_ , he reminds himself. _It's going to work out it's going to work out it's going to work out._

 

He's going to get his brother back.

 


End file.
